


you are not like the regulars

by InkBlotAngel



Series: time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near [9]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel
Genre: Because Seriously They Need to Breathe, Because the Show Won't, Cheers I Guess, Dem Agents Need a Drink, Empath!May, Gen, Me Exploring Rare Relationships, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, So Let's Pretend They Got Some Time in Between Episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkBlotAngel/pseuds/InkBlotAngel
Summary: Staying in the 1980's isn't the worst possible outcome for Deke Shaw, except there's something missing: Zima wasn't around yet.But whisky certainly is.Mild spoilers for season 7.
Relationships: Melinda May & Deke Shaw
Series: time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790437
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	you are not like the regulars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sanctuaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/gifts).



> So I've been talking to Sanctuaria a lot lately (*glances at fic gift list* err, who isn't?), and since her recent favorite character is Deke and mine has always been May, that got us both thinking—how _would_ a dedicated scene with these two play out?
> 
> She says May doesn't like Deke enough to interact with him. To that I say, challenge accepted, and then this happened because 1. everyone at this point needs a drink; 2. May is TOTALLY judging the Zima; and 3. she hasn't had a whisky buddy in a while, after Ward in S1, Andrew in S2, and Coulson in S4. I'm sure Yo-Yo's around somewhere, but she's likely too busy with Mack and... uhh, reunions. 
> 
> So Deke it is. Hope the Council of Deke Stans enjoys this, as well as everyone else! 🍋
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's mirrorball.

“Deke.”

It’s not Agent Shaw or Deke Shaw, and coming from her, that’s already quite significant. The man in question turns around and flashes one of his easygoing grins down at his newfound companion.

“Melinda,” he deadpans, testing out the word while mimicking her tone. Hey, if they were on first-name terms now, she might have forgiven him already for pinning her against the wall in space.

She gives him a _look_ , which only belies the way her voice becomes unusually soft, the way it does when she’s concerned. “Can’t sleep?” she asks.

It was only a little past 11 o’clock in the evening, which seems rather trivial in the context of, oh, they were stuck in the actual past? Not that it was the worst possible outcome for Deke, personally, but the fact that the mission wasn’t quite over yet is rather worrying.

Still, after rescuing Nana and taking the Zephyr back to base, everyone was relieved to have a few days to just breathe, even though most of the time it meant they were in constant anticipation of where and when Malick and Garrett were going to strike next.

It also meant that usually by the time night fell, everyone was worn out enough to retreat to their rooms early and try to unwind, saving their energy for a fight to come. Though Deke’s pretty sure he’s not the only one who has trouble sleeping on the base.

Coulson, being an LMD, usually took over the evening watch and monitored for any unusual activity. But tonight, Deke remembers now, Nana had ordered him to charge overnight, and so May volunteered to take over his duty. Explains why she was there, leaning against the doorway to Command, shifting her weight to her good leg.

“I just came from checking on the evil stepsister,” he says with a shrug, light in his eyes fading at the thought of Kora’s latest mind tricks. Deke really wants to feel for her, to sympathize, to hope that she was merely misunderstood not unlike how this team considered him a threat once. But so far, Daisy’s sister is not making a great case for herself, and his singed jacket bore the marks for it. “Still a little crazy, but at least she’s eating the food we’re giving.”

May nods almost imperceptibly before she raises an eyebrow, and Deke is nearly abashed as he immediately realizes he didn’t answer her actual question.

“No, I can’t. At least not right away.”

(Also, he can have near-wordless conversations with May now just like everyone else—he’s _totally_ a part of the team whether anyone admits it or not.)

Her face breaks into a delicate smile—one he often doesn't see on her, or at all—and she tilts her head backward slightly, a gesture to the room behind her. "With me."

Deke dutifully follows her into Command, for once a place of calm instead of utter chaos, and he takes a seat where she points, a makeshift sitting area someone must’ve set up recently, off to one corner of the room but still with a clear view of the giant screens suspended against the wall.

It had mismatched furniture, a lumpy faux-leather couch in a revolting shade of dark green and a cozy-looking recliner covered in scratches, surrounding a coffee table that clearly had seen better days.

He opts for the couch, and it seems like he made the right choice as May tucks herself in the recliner a minute later after setting down two glass tumblers and a nearly-full bottle on the table between them.

For a moment, he hesitates, the taste of his first beer burning a memory on his tongue. But he’s combed through all the stores in River’s End and it seemed like Zima had yet to exist in ’83, he’s been in need of a drink for a while now (they all did, actually), and he really doesn’t want to pass up this chance of having a _moment_ with May.

Deke realizes this is the first time they’ve been alone together on personal time, and he thinks he should be nervous, but instead something tugs at his chest.

May has never made him feel like he was a mere tag along. Sure, she’s been impatient and annoyed at him countless times and he can’t exactly fault her for that, but he’s noticed the way that she always folds him into their plans, factors him when she’s accounting for everyone’s well-being, and listens to him attentively as if she truly values his inputs.

He’s attached to this team because of his Nana and Bobo, and he likes staying in it because of Daisy, but it’s May’s quiet respect that speaks volumes and makes him _want_ to be a better agent.

Deke watches with fascination as May moves with practiced grace, deftly opening the bottle and pouring each of them a generous measure of amber liquid. His apprehensions fade slightly as a pleasant smell hits his nose.

“Here,” she says needlessly, sliding a glass towards him.

He stares at it for a moment, then back at her with playful accusation in his eyes. “You’re not prepositioning me, right? ‘cause I don’t drink on the first date.”

To her credit, May resists the urge to roll her eyes. “You wish,” she answers with a straight face, though there’s another smile tugging at her lips. It strikes him, sweet yet heartbreaking all at once, how he’s not sure if this is really her or a mere emotional mirror of himself.

May hasn’t smiled that often since she got back from Tahiti, alone.

“What is this thing anyway?” Deke picks up the bottle and turns it in his hands until he can look at the label: _Macallan_ in a big bold font, _Single Highland Malt Scotch Whisky_ in looping cursive below it. There's a folded tag dangling from a gold thread looped around the neck of the bottle, a single word written in neat penmanship. “Chastity?” he reads and looks at her curiously.

“It’s from General Stoner,” and Deke could swear there was a faint flush on her cheeks as she looks away to pick up her own glass. “He left it in one of the offices in the hopes we’ll be back here in the future.”

He’s fairly sure the accompanying note said it was really more for her, but he doesn’t press it. “So, drinking on the job, huh? Wouldn’t have expected it from you, Melinda May.”

She actually snorts and offers her glass up to him for a toast. “I’m not drinking to get drunk tonight, Shaw.”

“Cheers to that,” he agrees, smiling at her as their glasses clink merrily.

And proceeds to chug his drink in one go.

Deke gags as the whisky burns a trail down his insides, the liquid warming him all over. He barks out a cough to try and soothe his throat, his eyes watering at the unexpected sensation.

“What—” he tries to say and ends up coughing again.

“ _is_ this thing?” he finally manages to sputter, making a face at the empty glass as he sets it down on the table. “Why do you people _like_ these? It’s just like that can of orange air-freshener but you actually drink it!”

May looks unfazed, the only hint of her picking up Deke’s feelings shining bright in her eyes. “No one taught you how to drink properly,” she states matter-of-factly. At his nod, she gets up from her seat and disappears into the adjoining pantry briefly, returning with a bowl of ice and, to his puzzlement, a pitcher of water.

“You’re not supposed to drink everything right away,” May discloses, pouring Deke another serving, now significantly smaller, just a little more than a drop. She slides the glass back to him again and he takes it, still with a little bit of apprehension but also open trust.

“Whisky is about exploration—about taking your time,” she gestures to his glass encouragingly. “Smell it first, but keep your mouth partly open while you’re at it.”

Deke follows her instructions almost reverently, and he’s surprised at the aroma that hits him, flavor profiles that he didn’t quite taste the first time around.

“Is that… caramel?” he questions, frowning in uncertainty, moving his nose closer to the glass to try again. “Definitely something sweet.”

May smiles and nods encouragingly. “Honey. Now, take a sip, but don’t swallow it right away. Move it through your mouth for around ten seconds, and breathe through your nose.”

She lifts her glass for another toast and takes a sip for herself as she observes her present company. Deke Shaw, like the man out of time that he is, revels in discoveries of the past, and she can see the moment his face lights up with a new realization. He doesn’t exactly look delighted, not quite yet, but it’s a vast improvement over the look of disgust from earlier.

“It’s smoother than I thought,” he shares, amazed. It still burns, but it doesn’t hurt his throat anymore. Instead, it’s more of a pleasant warmth that comforts him against the chill of the base.

May is refilling his glass, this time adding a splash of water, the dark gold liquid lightening slightly. “There are many ways of enjoying whisky, and there’s no right or wrong—just what you prefer,” she continues, swirling the glass once before handing it back to him. “So let’s figure out what _you_ like. Do the same with this one and let me know what you think.”

Deke has never had fight training with May like he knows Daisy and Nana have had, but somehow, he thinks it might have been like this: methodical, straight to the point, yet ever so patient and encouraging, giving him space to figure things out on his own. Hey, maybe this could be their tai chi—it’s vastly preferable over waking up at five in the morning to practice with her.

“Well?”

“This is milder,” he states, and then winces internally because of _course_ it’s going to be milder; it’s diluted with water, duh Deke. But May didn’t seem to think it was a stupid observation, not with the way a pleased _hmm_ escapes her, so he goes on. “It tastes slightly different now, like… it’s… it’s fruity? But I can’t figure out what fruit exactly."

“The water opens it up a little and brings out the whisky’s more subtle flavors,” she explains, adding ice instead of water to his third sample. “Sorry, this is better with an ice sphere, but we only have ice cubes on base.”

Deke decides he likes his whisky on the rocks the best, to him the perfect middle between neat and watered down, with the coldness adding a crisp edge he rather enjoys. But still, he sticks to a small serving, opting to switch up his whisky and finding new distinctions each time as the night goes on.

But nothing surprises him more than actually enjoying May’s company. Just like her poison of choice, she is an acquired taste not everyone may take the time to discover, harsh and intense on the onset, but fascinating and layered when you figure out her nuances.

She’s still a woman of few words, preferring to listen than to talk, so when she does speak it always counts, her thoughts carefully structured and intelligent.

Deke’s also pleased to find out she’s actually very funny, her sense of humor dry and understated compared to his own tendency to be loud and brash, but her quips honest-to-goodness make him laugh out loud, the near-embarrassing big belly type, despite himself.

It’s just before 1 o’clock when a comfortable silence descends upon them, his relaxed demeanor shared between them. It’s enough to make him yawn. Ever the astute observer, May caps the bottle—now halfway finished—and stacks their empty glasses neatly beside it. “You should head to bed and get some rest,” she suggests, still sober after two glasses but visibly less stressed now. “I’ll be fine here.”

He’s nicely buzzed himself but not drunk, just enough to make him fall asleep, hopefully. It really has been a while since he took the time to unwind, but the past hour or so has taken off an edge he didn’t know he carried.

The world still needed saving, but it had given them a few nights off, and as far as this one goes, it was one well-spent.

“Alright,” he answers, standing up and stretching, knots in his back loosening with soft cracks. “When everything blows over, let’s do this again in a proper bar,” he pauses. “I can buy you one if you want.”

Deke’s not sure what on earth possessed him to say that, but before he could begin to chastise himself for it, she’s chuckling, an unusual but rather nice sound filling the air.

"I've had men offering to buy me a drink before, but never a bar," May shoots back good-naturedly before her smile softens. "Sure. I'll have to let you try a decent Whisky Sour anyway—it's got lemons."

“You’re on!” he returns easily, and he knows she’s not one for hugs, so instead he offers her a high-five and clasps her hand for an extra moment, hoping the contact lets her know how much he appreciates the time they spent together.

“Good night, May.”

“Good night, Deke.”

**END.**


End file.
